


mindfulness of thoughts.

by eoghainy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: hints of obikin if u squint, some sad but fluffs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoghainy/pseuds/eoghainy
Summary: hi so i'm super into star wars rn & i had to write a dumb little thing about anakin and obi-wan. this possibly can turn into a multi-chapter thing in the future with a bunch of oneshots. at the moment it's just one thing & it makes me sad as SHIT.





	mindfulness of thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> hi so i'm super into star wars rn & i had to write a dumb little thing about anakin and obi-wan. this possibly can turn into a multi-chapter thing in the future with a bunch of oneshots. at the moment it's just one thing & it makes me sad as SHIT.

Barely being more than a Padawan himself, Obi-Wan Kenobi was absolutely _exhausted_ from being put through the paces by the ever-energetic Anakin Skywalker. His youthful Youngling was always asking questions, always getting into trouble, and always finding a way to redirect Obi-Wan’s focus back onto himself. Patient and always ready to give Anakin the attention he needed, Obi-Wan spent most of his days herding after him, much to his dismay.

Though, he had to understand where Anakin’s neediness and desire for attention came from. The boy had been a slave up until recently; any attention at all would have been enough to sate his desires, be it good or bad. Obi-Wan tried not to raise his voice to him, but sometimes Anakin made it absolutely _impossible_ to keep his temper in check. Soon enough, he’d find a way to quell that needy side of him, somehow. Obi-Wan had his doubts.

It was late by the time Obi-Wan managed to convince Anakin to go to bed, and even later before he fell face first into his pillow. He had to shower first, not wanting to dirty up his sheets with his greasy hair and sweaty body. But before he even thought about his shower, he had to clean his ‘fresher, not wanting to completely eradicate the point of washing off the day’s trials. He was so exhausted that as soon as his cheek touched the cool pillowcase, he was out like a light, dragged into the wondrous healing process that sleep could offer.

More than a few hours couldn’t have passed before something awoke him, a disturbance in the otherwise peacefulness of his room. Eyes crack open momentarily, but he doesn’t turn over. Instead, he reaches out with phantom fingers through the Force, sensing the tight and guarded energy of the only person bold enough to come into his room whilst he slept. As a Padawan himself, Obi-Wan would have never dared enter Qui-Gon’s room as he slept, not unless it were an emergency.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says warily, ready for their call and response game.

“Master.” Anakin’s voice is strained, and through their fresh, young bond, Obi-Wan can feel Anakin’s unease as if it were his own. The boy was projecting once more.

Turning over to face the young boy, Obi-Wan blinks the sleep from his eyes, unable to bite back the sigh that leaves him. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I . . .” The openness between them, abruptly, closed. Anakin, most likely without even realizing it, was blocking him out; holding him at arm’s length. “I had a nightmare.” His voice sounds small, and once more, Obi-Wan is reminded of Anakin’s youth, of the life he has lived thus far.

He prods gently at the barriers set up by Anakin, able to feel them wither away. His Padawan lets him in, lets him quell the turmoil within before he gets a quick image, a feeling, of what Anakin wants – or rather, needs from him. Comfort. It was often at times like this where Obi-Wan feels at a loss of what to do. His way of dealing, as taught by his own Master, was to release the nightmare and the feelings that came with it through meditation, and into the Force where it could dissipate into nothingness. Anakin had never learned that way, even though he was starting to learn now. He had learned through human comfort, touch and presence; all the things Obi-Wan had never had as a young boy.

With him being so little, so confused and lost, Obi-Wan had to tread lightly here. Shutting Anakin out and telling him to meditate on it all would be the wrong option in this situation, he knew. So instead, going against all that he learned and his gut instinct, Obi-Wan pulls back the comforter and gently pats the mattress, keeping his expression neutral and soft.

“Come, you may sleep here if it helps you get some rest.” Obi-Wan allowed.

Immediately, he could feel the relief that flooded Anakin. His young apprentice was so . . . _emotional_. With his youth, he didn’t seem to understand that every emotion he let into their bond unchecked was felt by Obi-Wan with equal fervor. It took a lot of meditation on his part to keep his head clear, to keep his body and mind in perfect balance. Often, he found himself praying that Anakin would soon learn his way, though once more, he had his doubts about Anakin’s capability of change.

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin _did_ sound genuine and grateful, at the very least. Obi-Wan couldn’t grudge him that. His little body was warm as he climbed up onto his bed and curled up immediately, almost as far from Obi-Wan as he could get, but close enough to gain the reassurance and comfort that he needed. 

Though Obi-Wan had a bad feeling that this was going to lead to a bad habit, he ignored such a thought and instead turned his focus back towards sleep.

* * *

That first time was just that; the first time, and it was, unfortunately, not the last. It didn’t happen often, Obi-Wan would have put his foot down if it was every other night that Anakin was crawling into his bed in the dead of night, but it happened so infrequently that he couldn’t complain. Most nights he didn’t bother to wake when he felt Anakin’s presence, and felt his weight upon the bed, but other nights he did when he felt the hesitation that lingered in Anakin’s heart, the uncertainty if he was welcome.

Like, tonight. They had worked on Anakin’s meditation tactics today, and it had been a difficult session for the both of them. Anakin had defied him on every front, unable to focus again and again, so Obi-Wan had cut the lesson short in favor of releasing his anger in a healthy way rather than lecturing Anakin _again_. He and Anakin had hardly spoke since then, and there was a distance between them that Obi-Wan knew would disappear the next morning. Usually, a few hours apart were enough to smooth over their disagreements.

But that distance was bothering Anakin, apparently, and affecting him. In one fluid motion Obi-Wan woke and rolled over, fixing his apprentice with a stern gaze. He didn’t speak, just quirked an eyebrow, inviting Anakin to make that first step.

“I can’t sleep.” There was no lie in his statement. Obi-Wan could tell from his frantic, jittery energy that Anakin hadn’t, in fact, slept a moment that night, and it was almost dawn. Anakin _did_ look tired, with those dark circles under his eyes and his little pout, and instantly Obi-Wan was swayed. When he started being so easily manipulated by his Padawan, he had no clue, but he’d have to reflect upon that another time.

But, Obi-Wan wasn’t about to let Anakin get away with it easily, despite his certainty of his own answer to the request. “And?” He prompted, waiting for Anakin to ask the question.

His Youngling typically wasn’t a shy boy, he had a brazen, aggressive attitude that would get him into trouble more often than not. In this moment, though, he seemed to be exhibiting restraint. Obi-Wan felt a flash of guilt then. Anakin was struggling with the needs of comfort, and the need to show Obi-Wan that he _was_ capable of keeping his emotions in check, like Obi-Wan had lectured him about so many times before.

It was during this moment that he wondered if the ideals of the Jedi were flawed, but dismissed the thought. These rules had been set in place for a reason, not to be broken and ignored by one boy.

“May I sleep in your bed, Master?” Anakin finally asked, voice very meek.

“Don’t hog the covers.” Was all Obi-Wan said in the way of consent as he got comfortable once more.

* * *

It was hard to sleep that night, admittedly, because it was absolutely freezing in their little living quarters. Obi-Wan had gone to bed in more layers than he typically did, and was curled up in order to preserve as much warmth as possible. Sleep was fitful, incredibly illusive, and by the time he was about to give up and just meditate himself into _being_ warm he realized something, once more, was out of place.

He couldn’t help it, the sigh that audibly came from his lips. Blue hues flicker onto the figure that’s starting to climb onto his bed, fixing Anakin with an inquisitive stare. He supposed he already knew the reason why Anakin was halfway into his bed, though they were working on Anakin being vocal about his wants and his emotions as an exercise to teach him how to release them, so he did not ask. Just waited.

“I’m cold.” Anakin said defensively, as if he was expecting Obi-Wan to kick him out.

“As am I.” Obi-Wan replies simply. “I must admit, it _is_ very cold in here.” He had to figure that Anakin was feeling the lack of warmth more so than him, for he was used to the constant, dry heat of the desert; not the changing of the seasons as they happen here, on this mostly artificial planet.

“May I, Master?” Anakin clearly was in no mood to bother with dancing around the subject. Obi-Wan could see the slight tremor to his little body in the darkness. Despite being bundled up in more layers than Obi-Wan, Anakin was far colder than Obi-Wan was.

“Of course.” _When have I ever denied you the last pieces of your childhood?_ Obi-Wan wondered mostly to himself. “Stay here. I’m going to grab another blanket.” He rose from his bed as Anakin scrambled into it, heading out into the hallway where they kept their extra comforters. _I’ll have to get someone up here tomorrow to fix whatever has broken,_ Obi-Wan thought. He picked the thickest and the heaviest one and returned, draping it over the bed. He paused, just momentarily to see Anakin all curled up and smiled one of his rare, genuine smiles – just for a moment. In the next, he got himself underneath the layered comforters, moving close enough to his Padawan to share their body heat without being suffocating.

Though, Obi-Wan didn’t fall asleep until he was absolutely sure Anakin was out. Only then did he permit himself that luxury.

* * *

This night was much like the other ones, the only difference being that Anakin was older now. He was taller than Obi-Wan, and more defiant than ever, and yet he found Anakin still creeping into his bed some nights. He stopped questioning it, stopped waking, for Anakin knew he could get away with it. Anakin had known as such for several years now.

He woke at the crack of dawn that morning, unsurprised to see Anakin’s lanky form taking place on the far side of his bed. He moved quietly, unwilling to wake him, and went on with his morning routine whilst Anakin slept, for once, _peacefully_.

Hours later, Anakin did wake, skipping out on his own morning practice for favor of watching Obi-Wan. There was something on his mind, that much Obi-Wan could sense, but he did not pry. Anakin would open up to him when he was ready, and no sooner. Instead, he kept a close eye upon their bond, waiting for any sign of when Anakin was ready.

“Master,” Anakin tried, but something held him back. Humility, perhaps. Or was it embarrassment that Obi-Wan sensed?

“Do try and pretend like you’re interested in mediating, Anakin, perhaps then your thoughts will be clearer to you.” He chided, feeling Anakin’s sudden flare of annoyance. Though amused, Obi-Wan hid it, not wanting to drive Anakin away from confiding in him.

It had always been hard for Anakin to articulate what he felt. Though Jedi weren’t encouraged to speak out their mind, Obi-Wan knew that he had to change Anakin’s training some in order to help him grow into a healthy, emotionally capable young man. Being a slave for so long and seeing everything that he had had unfortunately left its mark upon him. Anakin would never be your typical Jedi, that much Obi-Wan had embraced long ago, when he had accepted that Anakin was just far too emotional.

“I just – . . .” He could sense Anakin’s furrowed brow rather than see it, and that thought amused Obi-Wan further. “I wanted to apologize. For the years of creeping into your bed.” _That_ caught Obi-Wan off-guard. “I used to do it, with my mother, back on Tatooine. I never stopped to think if it was making you uncomfortable, and I’ve imposed it upon you for years. For that I am deeply sorry, Master.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and turned to face Anakin, his eyebrows arched. At first, yes, it did make him uncomfortable. He had been very young, unsure of how to raise such a troublesome boy and teach him everything that he needed to know, but Anakin . . . Their relationship had always been one that was unusual, even a bit strange. They were closer than your typical Padawan and Master, their bond deeper, more prominent, concerning almost. Obi-Wan, in deciding to lead Anakin on the right path, had opened himself up to something that he had never realized he needed.

All these years, while he was teaching Anakin to be a Jedi and to be all that the word stood for, Anakin was teaching _him_ how to be more human. Obi-Wan had to admit, his emotional range before he took Anakin on as his apprentice had been stunted, extraordinarily so for his age. But that was to regular standards. Had Obi-Wan grown up not on the path of being a Jedi, he presumed he’d be more emotional, much more like Anakin than he cared to be. Yet, teaching Anakin had been changing him gradually, and subtly. While he still generally tried to remain detached, and tried not to give into the tempting allure of _feeling_ everything that there was, he still sensed the change within himself and often meditated to get it all under his control.

It had never crossed his mind that Anakin could have taken his detachment for discomfort. And, it had also never crossed his mind that Anakin would _apologize_ for Obi-Wan’s own subconscious choice to preserve the innocence that still existed within his apprentice.

He wasn’t the one that was supposed to train Anakin, Obi-Wan had been hardly more than a boy himself when he requested the Council to allow him this. Qui-Gon had been the one who wanted to train him, who made Obi-Wan _promise_ with his dying breath that he’d do it, train the boy, put him on the right path. Granted the rank of a Knight prematurely and during a time in which he felt as if he didn’t yet deserve it, Obi-Wan had felt burdened by his promise to his Master, by the expectations placed in him by Anakin. He hadn’t been ready, not at all for the hurricane Anakin turned out to be, and he hadn’t been ready for his own gradual adaption to _help_ Anakin calm himself.

Sacrifice in a such a subtle way in order to save Anakin from a life of darkness. Obi-Wan had come to that conclusion a long while ago.

Anakin’s words tossed about his head as he considered the weight of his apology. Those brows instead began to furrow as he pieced together his response. “While it did make me uncomfortable at first, it hasn’t in many years.” In fact, he had grown used to the weight of Anakin’s lithe body on his mattress, and even come to expect it. “After all that you have been through, I could not further drive you into yourself by denying you a childhood comfort. I figured that as long as it was doing no harm, then I would continue to allow it until you grew out of it.” He tried to keep the dismissive tone out of his voice.

Anakin’s surprise did not show on his face, but it did show in his eyes and through their bond. He was staying open rather than shoring up those shields, and for that, Obi-Wan was grateful. He much preferred it when Anakin let him in during conversations like these. “You never minded it too much?” Anakin asked, his head tilting. He was sizing him up, looking for the telltale signs of Obi-Wan’s dishonesty. He knew Anakin would find none of those.

“No.” Obi-Wan’s voice was firm.

“Okay.” Anakin hesitated a moment, and Obi-Wan felt the weight upon his Padawan’s shoulders lift. Lighter, Anakin crossed the room in quick, deliberate strides and settled in next to him. Obi-Wan went back to his meditation as Anakin began his, unable to help the slight smile that pulled up his lips.

* * *

Obi-Wan didn’t often have nightmares. His fears, his losses, his experiences, everything that could have ‘haunted’ him in his sleep he instead chose to release into the Force through his deep meditative state. He wasn’t a perfect Jedi, by no means, so sometimes something lingered in his head, making its appearance to him whilst he was asleep. As a child, he never had been plagued by these issues. His first true nightmare had been on Mandalore, whilst protecting Satine and running from the endless bounty hunters that refused to give up. He had confided in his Master of course, asking for his advice, and Qui-Gon had coached him through it. Qui-Gon had taught him how to release it all back into the Living Force through ways of meditation and deep self-reflection, and Obi-Wan had kept to this way all this time.

Yet, nights like this very night sometimes happened. He dreamed of a lot of things that night, not just an isolated incident. His nightmare held themes of his failure to save Qui-Gon, of how he had ‘killed’ Darth Maul, of the events of the Clone Wars that left him traumatized; specifically, Rattatak. He dreamed of different paths, of things that could have happened to Anakin if not for Qui-Gon, if not for him. Death, a common one. Deep down, the fear of loss was something Obi-Wan held close to his heart, behind all of the walls he kept up in order to prevent any from seeing. Anakin’s death was one he knew he could not survive, and more often than not, it made itself a very clear thing in his mind even during his waking hours.

Life without his former Padawan did not seem to exist in his dreams. For when his brain finished running through the scenario, often times he awoke and others he slipped into a dreamless rest. Tonight, he woke, breath hitched in his throat and panic making his brain feel clouded and muddled. He reached, subconsciously, to his left where Anakin often slept, but quickly remembered that _he_ had had the nightmare, and not his friend.

Debating with himself for a moment, Obi-Wan rose from his bed and gathered his robe around him, leaving his room in favor of poking his head in on Anakin. Their living quarters felt almost ominous as he walked, alone, down the hall, hand hesitating on the closed doorknob. Impulse, a strange and foreign thing to Obi-Wan, drove him to pull it open quietly, stepping halfway inside. He could see Anakin on the bed, a mound of lanky limbs sprawled across the mattress, and couldn’t help his quiet chuckle.

In his bed, Anakin was meek and small, seeming to not want to intrude on Obi-Wan’s personal space. In his own bed, Anakin was free to stretch and take up as much space as he deemed necessary. And in his mind, clearly, _necessary_ meant the entire bed.

On their brief tour back home, Anakin had been Knighted. Obi-Wan had been a Jedi Master for a time now, and it was Anakin’s newest desire to catch up to Obi-Wan’s higher rank as soon as possible. But no longer was Anakin his Padawan. The young man, no longer a boy any longer, seemed uncomfortable with referring to Obi-Wan as anything but _Master_ , even though Obi-Wan had insisted that they were on level ground now. The only reason why they were still rooming together was because they were being shipped out to the next planet in a few days’ time. Though Obi-Wan was very proud of him, he still felt a loss between them, like their closeness was slipping away.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan felt very foolish for thinking that he could have pulled a card from Anakin’s deck. He was not a child, and he certainly was not one in need for human comfort. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that, it didn’t take. He had to have been standing there in the doorway debating with himself for at _least_ ten minutes before he shut the door behind him.

Rather than wake Anakin, Obi-Wan pulled off his robe and placed it on the floor, choosing instead to use it as a pillow. The carpeting under him wasn’t exactly the comfiest, but he had slept in worse conditions, and right now he needed to feel the gentle, reassuring, familiar pulse of Anakin’s presence more than he needed comfort. The steady _thrum_ of it, like a heartbeat, gradually lured Obi-Wan to sleep. He’d take these last moments of closeness before Anakin moved up in the world and fulfilled his destiny as the Chosen One.

. . . And it was that very same _thrum_ that woke him, come morning, when it was much closer than anticipated. He woke very quickly, his senses automatically aware. Atop his body was a blanket, and though he was still using his robes as a pillow, he could see the corners of a pillowcase out of the peripheral of his gaze. Eyebrows bunched together as he saw Anakin stretched out beside him, awake, and watching him with a curious expression upon his face.

Obi-Wan had been hoping that he would wake up first and be out of the room before Anakin knew he was there, but clearly he had hoped wrong and underestimated his former apprentice. Anakin must have sensed his unspoken question of why he was on the floor, for he stretched luxuriously, offering Obi-Wan a wry smirk. 

“You just looked so  _lonely_ down here, Master,” Anakin quipped, clearly expecting Obi-Wan to rise to the bait.

But Obi-Wan was overly tired and still caught off-guard by Anakin’s show of empathy that he couldn’t think of a proper response to give Anakin the verbal spar he was looking for. Instead, he knew he didn’t need to explain his reasoning for being in here for Anakin clearly could have guessed, and quickly rose to gather up his wrinkled robe and the now-dirtied blanket.

“I have laundry to do.” He announced to no one in particular, perhaps really more to himself to ease the awkwardness that opened in his throat and chest. As he left, he heard Anakin chuckling, and knew that this would not be something that his friend would let him live down.

* * *

He never realized that the desert could get so cold once the twins suns began to set. Frozen to his core, and not just by lack of warmth, the former Jedi Master retreated back inside his small home to don another robe, wrapping himself up to keep the warmth trapped. He had been trying to meditate, and failing, because his mind was running in so many different directions. Meditation had not been something he could come by as of recent, and it was the same with sleep.

He was haunted, that’s why nothing came easily to him any longer. He hardly ate, and when he did food tasted bland and starchy. The numbness, the emptiness, gave him no cause to do anything other than watch the suns cross the sky until they began to dip below the horizon. Sometimes, when he grew tired of sitting and wallowing in his emptiness, he’d wander the deserts of Tatooine and try to find some trouble to make him feel alive again – but there was nothing.

The man known as Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead. He had been for several months now. That man, he had died on the planet of Mustafar, where the endless seas of lava swallowed his mind, body and soul whole.

This man, this spirit, this ghost, was exhausted, but unable to find rest. He was hungry, but for what he didn’t know. He ached, but for whomst? For what? These were questions he did not answer, _could_ not answer, and haunted his brain until sleep, finally, overcame him.

What little sleep he often did have, it was disturbed by his dead counterpart’s failures. Still, _his_ failures, no matter how far and how long he ran. The burning, molten gold eyes as they glared into his own, the hateful, spiteful words that spit from his lips. The familiar face, the familiar soul that he knew as well as his own, turned into something so twisted and so unfamiliar that it struck a chord within this new man, _Ben_ , that this had been happening right under his nose, and he had been too blind to see it.

Or, perhaps he had, and he had ignored it in the hopes that his former Padawan, his brother, his _friend,_ would choose the right path.

He dreamed of the agony that had awakened within him at having to raise a lightsaber towards the one person he had come to rely on all these years. He had been overcome by memories of his former apprentice as a young boy, struggling to best him and failing – until he had grown taller, stronger, leaner than his Master and had started coming out on top during their matches. He dreamed of the feel of their blows coming to serious ends, of each trying to fell the other and to find an opening in the others perfect defenses, of their strikes no longer having that hesitation of _no, I don’t want to hurt him, I just want to best him, then I can knock some sense into him_. It became a kill or be killed fight, in which neither could do it.

Was that his only solace, that neither of them could kill the other?

Ben supposed, even in his sleep, that he and the boy had always been too entwined to be able to kill the other. Their former bond through the Force had been such an intricate, beautiful, rare and loving thing that even though both were on opposite sides now, neither could forget the impact they made on the other. If prodded, he could find that the channel between them was still active, still open; just both were building up those powerful, strong walls that blocked the other out.

Master Yoda, once upon a time, had warned him that if he didn’t distance his Padawan like a proper Jedi Master should, then his attachment could become dangerous. His old self had ignored that advice, and look where it had gotten them.

He had needed the boy (he couldn’t even bear to think his first name, for the thought of it was just too painful yet) as much as a young Darth Vader had needed him. During the Clone Wars, when upon equal footing of Jedi Master and Jedi Knight, the duo had grown ever closer, the equilibrium between them evident to each soldier that looked upon them. On the battlefield, in such close quarters and facing the very real possibility of losing the other every single time they engaged the enemy, their bond had just continued, and continued, to swell.

As had his former Padawan’s unpredictability, and his wild, unyielding nature. It had worried Ben, as a Master and as a friend. The boys temper had become short, and he had been quick to turn to rage when provoked.

The most notable time had been after the events upon Jabiim, and after Ben had returned from his imprisonment on Rattatak, held captive by the dangerous Asajj Ventress. Though the youthful Darth Vader wouldn’t tell him of the horrors he saw upon Jabiim, of how he genuinely thought his Master had died, Ben had been able to sense it through their bond. His former Padawan had never been great at keeping his Master out of his head, so with as much gentleness as he could muster, he had gone searching for what the Jedi Knight tried so hard to keep hidden from him. And while he didn’t get a definite answer, he had gotten a strong feeling, a certainty in him that let him know that the boy within the Knight was slipping farther and farther away.

But all of that didn’t matter now, not when all of it had been lost. 

His dream was a confused mess of what has been, what could have been, and what had come to be. Darth Vader’s voice, as it had been, rang clearly in the confines of his head; the sounds of his agonized screams as old Ben did what he had to do, as the overpowering scent of charred flesh rose through the air and burned the inside of his nose. The three words, opposite of what Ben himself felt, spat out in rage. The accusations thrown back and forth, the insane words that seemed to make sense solely to the aggressor, the deluded ideas of what they _had been_ and what they _were_. He could feel the heat of Mustafar drenching him in sweat, taste the charred flesh and the ash, smell the bridges that were being burned in his wake. In _their_ wake. The gentle humming of the lightsaber sounded loud and obscene in his ears. 

Except, his dream ended this time with him doing what he failed to do. The lightsaber, the very thing he had sworn to never raise to his former Padawan, plunged through the softness of his neck to put a miserable, dying creature out of his suffering. But like all dreams akin to this one, there was no events that happened after that. It was like the world ended with the eldest Skywalker’s death in his brain, like his brain would not, _could not_ , imagine a universe in which the Chosen One was dead. His brain had been like that years ago, and it was like that even now. 

The ghost that had taken Obi-Wan Kenobi’s place woke, jerking upward so quickly that he almost feared he would smack his head against something. Drenched with sweat and unable to catch his breath, his hand roams without his permission, searching across the mattress for the figure of the young boy that would crawl into his bed for comfort. His brain revokes the premise of the nightmare, the truth that his brain was trying to show him once more, and stubbornly tries to find the Padawan that he knew. In the physical realm and through the Force he reaches, searching for the warmth of the burning supernova that was, that had been, Anakin Skywalker.

And yet, when he felt nothing, no body nor the presence of his friend, the events old Ben Kenobi was trying so hard to let go of crashed back into him. He had to close his eyes at the assault, release a shaky breath that could pass almost for a sob, and against his own will he _remembered._  

Anakin Skywalker was dead. Obi-Wan Kenobi, also a dead man, had done it, had pulled the final straw; he had prayed that the Force would be kind, that Anakin would be swallowed by the flames of Mustafar, but he had indeed felt the resurgence of power and the deeply unsettling lack of balance in the Force when Ana – rather, _Darth Vader_ , had been brought to back to full strength by none other than the Chancellor. By Darth Sidious.

“I failed.”

The words came before he could stop them. He had failed the boy that was his apprentice, he had failed himself, he had failed the galaxy. It was because of his weakness, his failure, his selfishness that the galaxy now had Darth Vader to deal with; that the war would not be over, not for a very long time. And here he was, reveling in his cowardice, hiding in the one place Darth Vader would never step foot.

Exhausted beyond belief and beyond his years, Ben Kenobi wishes for the simplicity of the past. The part of him that refuses, that blooms with denial, wants to pretend that person that his former Padawan had been before Darth Vader had existed was here, sleeping peacefully beside him. He wanted to feel his innocent Force signature, know that the boy had not been lost to the Dark Side and to the Sith, but none of that was possible. He had never been good at lying to himself; only good at repressing and ignoring.

 _Maybe_ , Ben thinks tiredly, _if I try to sleep, I can pretend that this is the real nightmare_. He swallows against the lump in his throat, knowing that he cannot avoid the truth forever.


End file.
